


What a Year and What a Night

by See_Kay_Write



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creeper Peter, Gen, Kidnapped John, Kidnapped Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/See_Kay_Write/pseuds/See_Kay_Write
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter deals with the Stilinskis’ mistrust of him; Stiles and his dad get an up close and personal look at Peter’s brand of crazypants.  Season 4 compliant through Monstrous, takes a right turn before A Promise to the Dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Year and What a Night

What a Year and What a Night

See_Kay_Write

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything you recognize, not making any money.

Summary: Peter deals with the Stilinskis’ mistrust of him; Stiles and his dad get an up close and personal look at Peter’s brand of crazypants.  Season 4 compliant through Monstrous, takes a right turn before A Promise to the Dead.

__

“Do you have any actual evidence to support that?”  John paced clockwise, ready for the night shift but wanting to finish talking this through with Stiles before he left.  He took another sip of coffee.

“I’m not saying that’s _how_ it happened, I’m just saying I wouldn’t be _surprised-_ ” Stiles flailed a little, pacing counter clockwise.  It wasn’t a full-fledged theory yet, but the highlights were at least worth considering, in Stiles’s opinion.

“It’s come to my attention you two don’t _quite_ trust me.”

As one, Stiles and his dad stopped their interlocking pacing in front of the board that had gotten dragged downstairs to stare at the darkened corner of the kitchen Peter had emerged out of.

“Wonder why,” Stiles muttered, hand over his chest as his heart rate came back down from the start.

“Could be the gun I had pointed at you,” the sheriff took his hand back off his gun but barely.

Stiles grinned sideways at him, “Way to go, Dad.” They hadn’t quite had time to get caught up on the details from the Peter-Meredith interrogation, apparently, gun pulling definitely hadn’t made the highlights.

Peter cleared his throat, “As amusing as it is to find out where Stiles gets his… personality from, I’m here for another reason.”

“Which is?” John shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder with Stiles.  Stiles bumped back lightly.

“See?  Things go so much smoother when we all just get along,” Peter smiled, taking a step further into the room.  Neither Stilinski retreated.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Stiles groaned before his dad could elbow him.

“I want my money back.”  Peter leaned on the table, “As much of it as I can track down, anyway.”

“Your money that paid for a bunch of assassins to invade Beacon Hills and get a hell of a lot of people killed?  That money?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “What’s your plan B for it? Puppy adoption centers?”

Peter sighed, “Yes, puppy adoption centers, I plan on opening a chain.  I need that money to live off of-”

“That vault had so much dust I’d be surprised if anyone had been in it the last decade,” Stiles interrupted, “And bearer bonds? Really? Who even uses those anymore?  What were you using before that?  Gold coins?”  John groaned and started to interject, but Peter continued on before he could get a word in.

“Well I had a hard time keeping up with the cleaning from my _coma_ ,” Peter snapped, “And can we all stop trying to punish me for the things I wasn’t even aware the little _banshee_ did?”

“No problem,” Stiles shot back, “I’ve got a whole list of things you were totally aware you did.  Alphabetical or chronological?”

“Stiles,” his dad cut in finally with a warning glare.  He didn’t like the look in Peter’s eye, but at least the claws hadn’t come out, “Look, Peter, we’ve been a little busy mopping up the assassins to start tracking down any money.  When I get an official lead on it, I’ll be sure to let you know, but since you didn’t actually report it stolen, why don’t you come to my office during normal business hours.  Instead of my _home_.  At eleven o’clock at _night_.”

“10:47,” Stiles corrected absently.

Peter talked over him, “From a magic werewolf vault underneath the high school; yes how exactly did you want me to spin that one to your impressionable deputies?” Peter frowned, moving around the kitchen table.  Now Stiles took a step back and tugged his dad with.  It didn’t help, Peter’s arm shot forward and grabbed Stiles by the shirt front.

“Personal space! Come on!” Stiles squirmed in his grasp, “I thought we were all past the yank Stiles around thing!  By the way, while you’re here, I’ve got a couple questions for you- did you turn Kate on purpose?  Are we having a Lion King moment here?”

Peter pulled Stiles very close to his face, “You two are going to help me get back my money.  I don’t care how.”  He ignored the gun to his temple, “And yes, Stiles, I killed Mufasa.  Happy?”

Peter let go of Stiles again with a shove; his dad steadied him before he landed in the wall.

“Now let’s get in the car.  Both of you.”

Stiles and John exchanged glances.  This was not a shift in Peter either of them were particularly happy with, but, Stiles reflected, it was at least a side of Peter he’d actually dealt with before.  Didn’t seem like he was just going to get left in a parking garage this time though.

“No way in hell,” John stood his ground, gun back up.

“This is not two for one kidnapping!  And you didn’t answer my other question,” Stiles groped around but all he came up with was a dry erase marker.  Yeah that was going to be helpful.

Peter sighed, and lunged.  In a moment, he had the gun in one hand trained on Stiles and the other at the sheriff’s neck.  Stiles could appreciate that he’d found the end of Peter’s patience and kept his mouth shut.  “You can both come, or I can leave one here with an inconvenient hole in a place of my choosing.  Your pick.” He pressed the barrel against Stiles’s forehead.  He couldn’t help the flinch, it felt too much like being in the locker room with the Chemist- except he was pretty sure he wasn’t getting a countdown.  “Teenagers and police officers have such a bad reputation for snapping these days, don’t you think?  Which one would be more believable here?”

“Hey, let’s take it easy…”

“Lydia’s boat house,” Stiles blurted out, “I can work from there.  That’s where Lydia and I have been trying to figure things out anyway.  So we should go there and get my notes and definitely not shoot anyone in any place.  Sound like a good plan for everyone?”

Peter backed off and gestured to the door, “After you.  Jeep, not the cruiser.”  Stiles lead the way out, Peter kept the gun trained on him as he gestured for John to exit as well.

Stiles leaned in briefly to the arm his dad put around his shoulder before the odd group piled into the Jeep, Stiles driving, and Peter in the back.

__

“Has any one seen the sheriff?” Parrish looked around the station.  His office was still shut and dark even though he’d been due in twenty minutes ago.  The other two just shook their heads and went back to their reports.  Normally that wasn’t enough time to really get worried but…

He went outside and tried calling the house first.

“Hey, you’ve reached the Stilinski’s!” Stiles’s voice came out of the recording, “We’re not answering right now, busy busy lives and all-”

“ _Stiles_ ” could be heard faintly in the background.

“But by now you’ve figured out you got the answering machine and we’re all in the twenty first century, so you know what to do!”

“We’re changing that when we get home,” his dad muttered, sounding closer to the microphone this time.  Parrish suppressed a smile; the recording was at least six months old. 

After the beep, Parrish left a simple, “Just checking in, sir.”  He scrolled through his phone until he found two cell phone numbers.  The sheriff had a far simpler voicemail message than Stiles, but Parrish didn’t bother leaving a message with either of them.  He hesitated before picking up his radio.  If this was related to the murders, Stilinski had made it clear he didn’t want the whole force up in arms- or even in the know.  While that hadn’t exactly stopped Hage- and Parrish left that train of thought alone for the time being.

If the odd silence _was_ because of the murders, there could be trouble.  He climbed into his SUV and went to check out the house in person.  He’d decide what to do from there.

The cruiser was parked out front when he arrived but the Jeep was gone.  That wasn’t immediately alarming.  He got out and glanced around.  Everything seemed quiet so far.  He knocked on the door.  It pushed open under his hand.  _That_ was alarming, he thought as he brought his gun up slowly and began to clear the house.  He reminded himself how monumentally stupid it was to not call for backup, dead pool over or no, but kept going.  He liked it a lot better being in the sheriff’s confidence.  Even if that meant he really didn’t necessarily know a lot more than he did before, he could at least know to be aware of monsters at the end of 911 calls instead of walking in totally in the dark. 

The house was clear, nothing seemed terribly out of place except for board in the middle of the kitchen.  He frowned at it as he brought his phone up and made another call, this time to Lydia. 

“I thought we’d established I’m not exactly psychic,” was the answer he got after he identified himself.

“I know, but if this is” he lowered his voice even though there was no one to hear it, “ _supernatural_ related, I didn’t want the whole department all over it yet.  I think you guys are the best shot we have at finding them quickly.”

“I’ll get a hold of the others,” Lydia sighed, “We really need to start a phone tree…”  Parrish was pretty sure that last comment wasn’t fully for him, given how she’d hung up on him directly after.  It wasn’t a bad idea though.

__

It didn’t take long before Lydia’s car and Scott’s bike turned up with Kira, Malia, Derek and Braeden in tow.  A banshee, a coyote, a wolf-less werewolf and a human in one car, Parrish had to wonder absently how _that_ ride had gone before he made himself focus.

“They can’t have been gone too long,” Scott was saying anxiously as he paced the kitchen, “I texted Stiles about an hour ago, they were eating late.”

Malia was sniffing a corner with a puzzled frown.

“What?” Lydia finally snapped after a few moments of that when no one else seemed inclined to.

“I don’t know,” Malia shrugged.  She didn’t stop doing it and Lydia turned back to the board.

“This is new,” she pointed to the scrawl in the bottom right corner.  “We were going over this again yesterday, it definitely wasn’t there.”

Parrish and Scott nearly bumped heads trying to look at what she was pointing at.

“I-H-$-P?” Scott read with a puzzled look, “What’s that supposed to tell us?”

“L, not I, that’s a small letter L, both the first letters aren’t capitalized but the last one is,” Lydia replied absently, with a look that clearly stated Scott should know Stiles’s handwriting better than that, “lh money P.”

“Peter was here,” Malia announced suddenly, “That’s who I can smell.  Stiles and his dad and…” She sniffed again and wrinkled her nose, “Bad feelings?”

“Bad feelings?” Kira asked, while Scott took a more subtle sniff and wrinkled his nose as well.  Parrish stayed quiet and let them continue to talk through it.  Scott and Lydia were all right around him, and he thought the others would take their cues from them.

Malia just shrugged defensively, “We’re still working on it.”

“Anger, I think a little fear,” Scott clarified quietly.  Derek and Braeden came back in.

“We didn’t find anything else,” Braeden reported, “Any luck in here?”

Lydia frowned at the board again, “We know Peter’s been trying to get his money back.”  Her gaze shifted to Braeden who shrugged unapologetically. 

“So that’s the P and the dollar sign, but who’s LH?” Kira asked.

Lydia shook her head, trying to make the pieces fit.  Stiles was better at this, but Lydia was a genius.  Stiles wouldn’t have left anything so uncomplicated that it couldn’t be figured out in a timely manner; it would completely defeat the purpose of the call for help.

“Not a who,” Lydia said finally, “He deliberately capitalized the P but left the other two lower case.”

“A where, maybe?” Derek broke in quietly.

“The lake house?” Kira supplied hesitantly.

Lydia stood up straight, “I told Stiles about the mountain ash.”

They bolted to their vehicles, Parrish lead the way by virtue of having a light bar and sirens.  Lydia road with him to save the time of looking up directions after giving her keys to Scott and making him promise not to crash her car.  Traffic was fairly light in town, given the time of night, and nearly nonexistent as they approached the turn off.  He cut the lights and sirens as they got close, not wanting to announce their presence any sooner than he had to.

“I think you guys should stay back until I get a chance to check it out,” Parrish turned to Lydia, who was already climbing out of the car. 

Scott pulled up behind them and the rest of the mismatched group was piling out as well.

“A little late to have second thoughts,” Lydia said tightly, “Besides-“

They all froze when shots rang out from somewhere beyond the house.  Three shots in a short burst, a pause before a fourth shot, then two more before they died off.

Parrish brought his gun up but Scott was already running, Malia close on his heels.  The house was still and quiet and Scott bypassed it entirely to listen- for what he wasn’t sure.  More gunshots, heartbeats, anything.  Malia grabbed his arm as he paused and tugged him toward the second structure.

“Come on.  The boat house-“

There was a crash and a sudden roar of flames. 

The boat house was on fire.

__

Parrish immediately radioed the fire department even while knowing they were so far out he wasn’t sure how much it would help.

“Stiles! Mr. Stilinksi!” Scott yelled.  He tried to get close but Malia and Kira grabbed ahold of him before the heat got to be too much.

“That’s not…” Derek stared at the structure, “It’s burning, but it’s not-“

Braeden nodded, “The wood’s been treated with something?”  They both glanced at Lydia who threw her hands up.

“How am I supposed to know!” she turned to stare at the water, instead of the building, and rubbed her arms.  She should feel hot, but all she felt was cold and the sounds were vaguely muted… 

Bubbles were coming up near the dock.

“Scott!”

Scott turned, eyes red, to look at Lydia and then at where she was pointing.  He waded in without hesitation, Derek just behind him, and dove beneath the dock.

Stiles flailed with one arm toward the surface while gripping his dad with the other.  Scott could see a glint of metal between their hands but didn’t take the time to see what it was.  He grabbed ahold of Stiles and pulled him up while Derek grabbed the sheriff.  They both coughed and sputtered as they hit the surface, and Parrish waded in as well to help pull them all to shore.

“Where’s Peter?” Stiles coughed, keeping a grip on his dad’s jacket.  Parrish quickly fished out his keys to take the cuffs off them.  John nodded his thanks and sat up, trying to catch his breath. 

“We don’t know,” Derek replied.  Braeden and Malia broke off to keep searching.

“Dad shot him, a lot,” Stiles panted, “It was kind of awesome.”

John snorted softly and put an arm around him, “Right up until he tackled me.”  He rubbed the back of his head gently.  He wasn’t concussed, but it had dazed him enough that when they went in the water, he couldn’t get his bearings.

“And then he kinda set the place on fire.  Sorry Lydia,” Stiles gave her a shaky smile that leaned more toward a grimace, “I think this might affect your open house.”

“Shut up,” Lydia replied swiftly.

Stiles beamed, taking it the way she meant it, “I’m glad we didn’t drown and/or get stuck in a burning building too.”

It was right about then that the fire department showed up, followed closely by Lydia’s mom who were in turn followed by more deputies.

“Does she have a police scanner?” John muttered to himself as he detangled himself from Stiles’s grip and pushed himself up to figure out how he was going to spin this.


End file.
